Just the Same

Instead of pews, there are wooden benches, three legged stools, and buckets that people bring to sit on. 

Instead of auditorium or sanctuary, there is the shade of a big tree. 

Instead of a full band, there is a man who sits on an empty jug and taps it with his hands and thumps it with his feet. 

Instead of a choir, there is a circle of women who toss their beaded shakers and clap their hands to the beat of the plastic jug drum. 

Instead of an air conditioner, there is a cool steady breeze. 

Instead of carpet, a layer of red African dirt. 

Instead of suits and dresses, there are colorful t-shirts, wrap-around skirts, and trousers still dirty from the morning's work in the fields. 

Instead of having a nursery, every mother keeps her baby tied to her back, and they bounce to the beat as their mothers dance in adoration and celebration. 

There is no sign out front and no scrolling banner, and yet you can easily find this church by following the steady trickle of people that walk or ride their bikes there to worship and hear the Word of God. 

There is no special announcement to "stand up and greet your neighbor", yet everybody does it anyway by shaking the hand of every single person who arrives. 

There is no stage, no lights, no PowerPoint projection, but there is a gathering of worshippers who sing as loud as they can. 

There is no microphone and no pulpit, but there is a man who gets up and preaches from the Word of God in the language of his people. 

There are no Bibles in the back of the seat in front of you, but there is a preacher who tells stories from the Word of God in a way that people will remember them without being able to read. 

There is no elaborate table, golden dishes, unleavened bread, or individual cups of grape juice, but there is a line of people waiting to receive their broken-up cookie and dip it in the bowl of juice in honor of the sacrifice of Jesus for the forgiveness of their sins. 

When it is time for the offering, there is no special presentation about why we should give, and yet people bring their money, just like the widow who presented her two coins at the temple, and give it to God in thanks for what he has done for them. 

There is no real schedule, no limit to time, and so people come and they stay and they sing and they listen for up to four or five hours. 

The people have never heard four-part harmony, a keyboard, or an electric guitar, but they know how to sing praises to Jesus. 

They have never seen a stage light or a slideshow, but they know to whom to give their attention. 

They may not know how to read, but they know how to listen to the Word of God and put it into practice. 

They wouldn't even know what a steeple or an auditorium is, but they know what the church is. 

After going to church in the village with our interns, I asked them about their impressions. "What did you notice?" I posed. 

"You know, it's so drastically different," one intern said as if he was still in the middle of the thought.

After a long pause he added, "But yet it's really just the same."